


Nothing to their Light

by CourageousGryffindor



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 13:04:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7846159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CourageousGryffindor/pseuds/CourageousGryffindor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A brief one-shot about Carmilla's love of the stars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing to their Light

**Author's Note:**

> Special shout-out to my friend Danny (Lydia) for dealing with gross grammar things.

Carmilla wasn’t certain at what age she started finding comfort in the stars.  Some of her earliest memories were of the stories her Nurse used to tell a young Mircalla as she curled up beneath blankets, fighting sleep so she could hear the end of that night’s adventure.  They were grand tales of travelers navigating with the skies, heroes being remembered in constellations, gods and goddesses living in castles amidst the glittering night.  As far back as she could remember, Mircalla had made her home in the stars.

At six, she could be found out in the gardens, following leafy treasure maps in the dark.  The full moon shone bright enough that she could find her way, but not quite so bright that it blocked the twinkle of the stars as they guided her along the path. She never strayed far.  Her mother wouldn’t let her as she called for Mircalla from the back steps. But it never stopped her, as she continued to explore the far edges of her world, certain that the stars wouldn’t lose her.

By age ten, Mircalla had learned that it was inappropriate for a young lady to wander the gardens past dark unaccompanied. Besides, there was too much for her to do, even in the evenings. There were tutors, music lessons, dance classes, and needle point and a whole lot more growing up to do. In only a few more years she could finally join her father’s dinner parties. But still, Mircalla insisted on the stories and on hearing about the adventures written in the stars. On nights when she couldn’t sleep, young Mircalla would even sit at the window, creating her own constellations.  There was a giant black cat chasing a warrior across the sky, a twirling honey-haired maiden between them. In the darkest part of the sky was a raven, its wings spread wide. And even further along was the stag hunt, the stag hiding at the very edge of the horizon. She slept soundly with her stars watching over her.

Fourteen year old Mircalla was the picture of grace and elegance as she wowed entire dinner parties and ball rooms with her smile. Winding her way between guests, Mircalla was enthralled by her glittering world. There was dancing and parties and her favorite, a new bubbling wine from France that tasted like stars. As she moved about the room, she would wonder if this was what it was like to live amongst the stars. And when all the guests had left and she was once more alone at her window, she would quietly hope that it wasn’t, for there had to be something more.

When she was 18, Mircalla realized that her love for the stars might not be quite so unrequited. For even in the brightly lit ballroom, they came to her, spotting her vision as she collapsed onto the cold stone floor, struggling to breathe. The pain spread from just below her breast and filled every corner of her being. Everything was cold. Everything, save for the blood flowing down her side and soaking her back. The last thing she saw in that life was her mother’s tear-stained face and the stars waltzing in the night.

Her centuries are nothing to their light. They have seen everything she is without judgment: a cruel and callous monster, a secret romantic, a child exploring the edges of the world. With every hunt, with every feast she feels the stars on her back, keeping her grounded when she would otherwise certainly float away. No matter how much her world is torn apart, the stars remain constant. People die, places change, things become obsolete and yet still her honey-haired maiden dances across the sky and the stag has yet to venture from his spot on the horizon. The stars remain the one place she can still claim as home…

  
...Until she’s locked away beneath the ground and they’re gone.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, your kudos and comments mean the world.


End file.
